


Hospital Visit

by secretidentity



Series: Grey Areas [1]
Category: Spy vs Spy
Genre: Abuse, Breathplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Medical Bondage, Medical Restraints, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Rivalry, Serious Injuries, Situational Humiliation, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretidentity/pseuds/secretidentity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Black Spy has been admitted into the Black Nation’s Embassy Hospital with wounds acquired in a brawl with the White Spy. He receives an unwelcome visitor and is an ungracious host.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospital Visit

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fiction, but one that I’m still rather fond of. It was originally posted on the y!Gallery under my nom de plume, “secretidentity,” back in 2008. It has now been lightly edited for easier consumption. _It is violent and trashy and filthy._ This is the first part of my _Grey Areas_ series.
> 
> If you feel compelled to read it, please don't say that I didn't warn you

Fuck - this kind of pain he can live with.

On every breath he can feel his lungs pressing into his crooked ribs and it’s sweet. It feels like the whole right side of his body has been stamped with a friendly reminder of his life’s mission: Beat out the competition; the one left breathing is the one who wins. At least . . . isn’t that how these games are supposed to play out?

Black tries wiggling his toes inside his cast just to feel that pain again.

He was admitted into the Black Nation’s Embassy Hospital just a few hours ago. A soft spoken sentence into a pay phone brought the emergency team to his side - he found himself in the care of experienced Doctors within minutes. _“Hey . . . Yeah. Uh, I’m sort of bleeding out. Just so you know. I might die.”_ The fallen support beam had been what’d gotten him in the end, and the look on that bastard’s face as the house fell down around their ears . . . Thinking of it now through the thick veil of Morpheus, Black finds the whole situation kind of funny.

Being in traction has always annoyed him. Having his right leg suspended and weighted to straighten out his multiple breaks isn’t his idea of a good time and his right arm being cast and bound tight against his chest isn’t great either. While traction is dreary, Black doesn’t mind the accompanying morphine drip one bit. The pain feels different - better this way. Like it’s happening someplace outside of his body and it has no power over him.

Black takes a cup of green Jello from his bedside table and lifts it to his bruised face. He does his best to suck it out of the container without the aid of a spoon and somewhat succeeds. He wishes suddenly (irrationally, he tells himself) that he’d been allowed to keep his gun with him. He replaces his half-empty cup on the side table and feels his left trigger finger twitch. He yearns for the weight of a pistol in his hand. Laying in bed without one feels more than vulnerable.

A tap-tap-tapping catches his muddled attention and he turns his long face to look out the window. Black jolts up with a yelp, putting excess stress on his busted leg and shouts: “Nurse! Shit, fucking _guards!_ Someone, goddamn it!” The white spy is perched on his windowsill, his clothing stark against the dark skyline. He is resting the barrel of his revolver against the glass and showing Black his slow Cheshire grin. Black’s lungs ache from his effort and he feels that pain again. Deep and dark like a drum inside his chest.

Black squeezes his eyes shut and when he looks again White is no longer there.

He wishes he could blame the morphine.

An iconically dressed nurse with a paper cap calmly enters the room and stands at Black’s side. She purses her fire-engine red lips as she listens to Black’s account. “A white spy?”

“That white spy! My rival? The bastard who put me in traction!”

“Outside of your window, huh?”

“What the hell did I say I saw? Christ, listen the first time.”

“Sure, Mr. B. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. For now I’m gunna to do you a favour and up your morphine a bit. You’ll like it okay? Plus it’ll make your mind easy.”

“The hell? I’m easy enough as it is! I need my gun, where the fuck is my pistol? Shit, don’t - I said. Uh. That’s . . . Nice.”

Black’s eyes drift to the side and he’s no longer in the hospital room. He’s someplace quiet, watching the nurse’s red high heels tap-tap-tapping out of the room and seeing the white door close behind her pale ankles from a great distance.  
\---

Black wakes up to a cracking sound and shattering pain. His voice reacts immediately but it takes him too long to focus his eyes and far longer to recognize the sound as his left wrist breaking. Shit. He hears an appreciative chuckle and it can only be White. He watches his enemy with weary, glazed eyes.

White gently strokes Black’s twitching left hand with his own pale fingers and places a sarcastic kiss on Black’s dark knuckles, bruised from their fight earlier. White has the black eye to match. A part of Black is satisfied with the idea that White will be wearing that shiner for weeks to come. “You’re awake now, sleeping beauty?”

“Fuck . . . White. Good to see you.” Black’s smile is crooked. The morphine in his system is wearing thin and a glance to his drip reveals an empty stand. White has removed (or stolen) his dose and the world is coming back to him with every drop of morphine that doesn’t hit his veins. Without the drug his unlucky wrist is murderously painful and his fingers are vaguely shaking and twitching in White’s grip - the nerves are almost tickling from the damage. _This kind of pain,_ he remembers. _Right._

“It’s good to see you too Black. I enjoyed our tango earlier and was craving a second round. I felt cheated after the building collapsed and finished you.” In a low whisper, he adds: “I’d wanted to do it myself.” Even with the bruise around his eye purpling, White is the epitome of suave and danger. His hat rests on the side table and his white silver hair is slicked back, longer than usual for lack of care but disguised well. His eyes are calm but Black knows better.

Under his collar White’s skin is flushing pink. His chest is rising and falling with his quick, anticipatory breaths. It makes Black feel sick. “I like this situation,” White coos, his smile growing wider. “You’re already in bondage and your body won’t allow you to escape. If you shout, I can guarantee no one will come to your rescue.”

“The hell, White. I’m sure this isn’t part of your mission.”

His sentence hangs in the air as his nemesis smirks and strokes Black’s hand a moment longer. With a barely perceptible change of expression, White slowly presses Black’s knuckles back towards his wrist and he takes his time increasing the pressure until it is unbearably intense. Black cuts off a squeak and bites his lips together to hold back the cries that are already bubbling in his throat. He arches up from the pain, his body taught and shaking on the thin mattress. When White speaks, his sentences are short and excited, punctuated by sharp exhales. “It’s not. Part of my mission. But this is going to be so. Much. Fun.” Despite Black’s best intentions he chokes when White relentlessly pushes _harder_ and a whimper escapes. White laughs at this and drops his enemy’s hand.

Black’s whole body falls slack again and he resists the urge to pull his abused limb to his chest. Hating himself for showing weakness, he turns his head to avoid White’s gaze. Black forces out: “If this is your idea of fun, you need a new hobby,” and is rewarded by a heavy hand closing over his mouth for a heart-pounding minute. He can feel his bruised lungs struggling against his uneven ribs in an attempt to get air and the dull ache in his left wrist and he pulls at White’s arm. Black’s body feels like lead. The drugs have left him hollow and aching and wanting sleep and the pain reminds him that he needs another dose. White waits until Black stops struggling before releasing his grip. He hums a contented tune to himself as he moves about the room. When he returns to Black’s cot he drops a duffle bag on to the mattress. _The bastard had this all planned out! Damn it!_

As if following Black’s internal conversation, White says “I didn’t have to bring much, considering we’re in a hospital wing.” The ominous sound of the duffle bag zipping open fills the air between them. “There are so many wonderful things here. Scalpels, bone saws, all kind of drugs and the accompanying syringes. I’ve especially considered the bone saws, though I have to say I prefer the old-fashioned manual saws to this hospital’s electric ones.”

Black huffs and presses his body as far into his sparse mattress as possible. His words sound redundant, even to his own ears. “You came here to torture me.”

“Aren’t you a bright one.”

“Top of my class.”

“You’d do the same, in my situation.”

“I won’t disagree.”

And then White is untying the sling keeping Black’s busted arm tight to his body and unfolding his enemy’s cast limb, laying out straight along his side. “Please feel free to struggle. It entertains me.” White takes a pair of scissors from his bag and carefully cuts and unwraps the bandages around Black’s ribs as if he were a particularly fragile birthday present. Black lays still, unwilling to do anything that may incite his rival. His position is a poor one and as White had helpfully pointed out earlier, his body confines him to his bed.

The morphine is still deadening all of the wrong senses, so even though his mind is reeling he acutely experiences pain when White places a hand on his bare, bloody chest and presses. “Aah! Shit - ” Black squirms and trembles against the pressure, keeping his arms flat against the bed sheets regardless of his relative freedom. His fingers clench and unclench impotently and he bites his lip until it splits. “Nng . . . Wh-White!”

White’s laugh is slow and self-satisfied. He places a second hand on Black’s chest and puts his weight on them, pressing harder and leaning in close to hear those bitten-back cries. “Yes?” Black’s next breath seems to curdle in his throat. It’s time to move on. White begins trailing his fingers absently over the pain-taught belly in front of him as he considers his next move. Should he fetch the bone saw? Perhaps he could cut off all of Black’s casts and roll him off of the bed. From there, the potential for humiliation . . . Black interrupts White’s sadistic plotting with a brief, hitching moan. It makes White consider his position from a new angle.

A million and one scenarios turn over in White’s mind. This sort of situation is what he’s best at: Thinking on his feet, planning and counter-planning, changing the tide of the fight with one timely manoeuvre. Or at least attempting to do so. The question is always this: What if?

Oh now, that would make everything much more interesting.

With a chuckle, White’s roaming hands tickle deliberately at Black’s twitching belly before slipping lower, under the hospital sheets and to the front of Black’s boxers. Black practically swallows his tongue. _There’s always been tension between us, but where the hell is this coming from?_ He’s ashamed that White’s touch is exciting him, but there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment.

White smiles and he is all teeth and cruel intentions. He huffs out a laugh, “God, you’re such a sick bastard. I can’t believe you’re getting hard.”

When Black recovers his ability to speak, he mutters “Th-that’s considered sexual harassment you know. Inappropriate touching,” which is his best attempt at changing the subject.

“Shut up.” White chuckles and drags his palm slow and heavy against Black’s clothed prick. He shifts a knee onto the bed to gain a better position and employs his second hand in cupping Black’s balls through his boxers. He watches Black’s face intently for a cue. Black’s eyes slide shut and he pants, both hands go to block White’s ministrations and both get slapped away. “Just take it, I’m not hurting you.”

Black laughs wryly and scratches his nose with the cast on his right arm. _But for how long? Fuck._ He feels more vulnerable with every move his enemy makes and can’t help his heart from beating faster or his dick from getting just that much harder.

White leads the waistband of the boxers over Black’s partial erection and tucks it behind his scrotum. “By the way, why aren’t you wearing one of those hospital gowns? They’re dead kinky.” White moves so that he is straddling Black’s thighs and he strokes thick ridge on the underside of Black’s cock with an wandering thumb.

“Dead humiliating is more like it. Told the nurse I’d kill her if she tried anything- ah! Funny . . .”

White bends deeply at the waist and licks Black’s cock from root to tip. Now he’s _really_ hard. “Smarmy bastard, aren’t you?”

“You’re aaahn . . . One to t-talk.”

“I’m done talking.” And he takes the head of Black’s cock between his lips.

“Fuck-!”

White holds just the head of Black’s dick inside his mouth and runs his tongue over the slick skin there, using his hand to grip the base and stroke lightly. “Nn, why-why are you . . . ?” White lifts his head from Black’s cock and glares. Black is sure he isn’t imagining it - White’s face has turned beet red.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I told you shut up, didn’t I?”

“I guess so,” White adds a wrist-flick to the hand job he’s giving Black, who strains into his palm and plants his foot on the mattress, using it to thrust up regardless of the pain in his body. “Fuck. Do that some more.”

“Hmm. Let me think about that.” The movements of his hand slow and then cease completely, his fingers still wrapped around Black’s excited prick. "No.”

“What? Shit, you cock-tease.”

White chuckles. “Did you think I was doing this for your enjoyment? This is for my personal entertainment. If you get off, it’s incidental.” Black moans, still thrusting his cock up in an attempt to get friction, but White follows his movements closely and his efforts go unrewarded. His right hip is pinching and his suspended leg burns when he moves like this, but Black can’t help himself.

“Pervert. I really fucked you up earlier and now your cock is bloody raging and you sound like you’re just. About. To beg.”

“I’m not!”

“Are you so sure?”

White smirks and readjusts his grip so that Black’s cock stands straight up. He settles his fingers more comfortably and tightens, releases, tightens again. “Want to take that back? Last chance.” Black looks uncertain for a moment. White takes advantage. He raises his opposite hand and slaps his knuckles across Black’s erection.

_Smack!_

“God!”

“Yes?” White slaps with his palm this time, harder than before. _Smack!_

“Wait!”

_Smack!_

“Ah! Mmmng- ” It stings and it hurts but in an exciting way. Black can hardly believe himself but he’s thrusting up into White’s hands again, eager for the next blow to land on his stupid, hungry prick. He’ll do anything, anything- _No! No I won’t, I’m not going to beg just . . . Just a little longer. . ._ And then White stops. He’s wearing a smug look on his flushed face and is unbuckling his belt and wrapping it around his fist. _Shit._ Black had been right at the edge of coming, but now he feels miles away.

The punch lands before he can a protest. It’s not a serious punch like the ones they’d traded in that doomed building earlier today, but it’s aimed well and it drives straight into Black’s solar plexus. For a moment he’s scared. He’s scared he’s going to spew green Jello all over White’s forearm, he’s scared that he’s in such a compromised position and he’s scared that this white spy is just fucking insane. He’s choking back a cry, trying to suck in air and White just grins at him as he unwraps his hand and drops the length of leather on the floor.

White reasserts his position over Black, crawling up his body to sit high on his sore chest and trapping Black’s already rather useless arms under his knees. He unbuttons his own pants and pulls down the zip, easing a hand inside to rub himself. White bites his bottom lip. He’s enjoying this - he’s making a show of enjoying this. He frees his cock and fists himself nice and slow. “I love this.”

“And I hate you,” Black says with a trembling voice and very little conviction. His eyes are darting between the dripping cock in his face and White’s dangerous expression.

“But you’re still hard.” Hair has fallen loose from White’s slicked-back style and it’s sticking to his forehead. His eyes are dark and sliding closed and now he’s rubbing the slick head of his cock against Black’s bruised, bloody lips.

White lifts Black’s head and lines up to push inside his mouth. “Open up.” When Black looks at him with disobedient eyes and bares his teeth, he earns the fingers that press into the right places and force his jaw open. “You don’t want to lose those pearly whites. Understand?” And then White’s cock is slipping inside and Black is curling his lips to cover his teeth and he’s _taking_ it.

White’s prick rubs insistently against the roof of his mouth and Black can taste the pre-come coating his tongue. It’s thick and bitter and Black can’t stand the taste. He takes it anyway, allowing White to fuck his mouth and pull on his head. His neck and jaw are already sore and the weight of his enemy on his chest is almost smothering, but God. He’s hard and he wants this and White’s _giving it to him._

White pulls Black’s head up and rocks into his mouth, fucking it. “Yeah . . . That’s right Black. Your lips look so hot wrapped around me.” he fingers that perfect ‘o’ and raises his hips to thrust deeper, pushing down against Black’s throat, who gags and attempts to pull his head away. White counters by twisting his fingers into Black’s hair and pulling him in even closer. “Shh, it’s alright. Just swallow me. Come on.”

Black swallows convulsively as ordered and the tip White’s cock slips inside his throat. For an irrational moment, he is both terrified and elated. “Yes, just like that.” White’s words of encouragement and the knowledge, the feeling of his worst enemy’s - his best rival’s sex thrusting down his throat has him harder than he’s ever been. He fumbles for his own cock.

His left hand is pathetic, swollen and sick from the abuse it endured earlier. His right hand . . . only his bony fingers are protruding from the cast. Useless. He rubs his sorry appendages against his erection regardless. It is easy to ignore the pain in his aroused state and he is feeling increasingly desperate the longer he has to wait for release and the harder White pushes him.

He had been squeezing his eyes shut, but when White pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger they snap open. He tries to inhale and gags, striving futilely to get air into his busted lungs. He attempts to turn his head away but White follows him, thrusting between his struggling lips. Black is afraid again - adrenaline surges through his system and images flash through his head of himself as a blue-faced corpse found covered in White’s come and desecrated but he can’t stop, can’t pull his hands away from his dick and then, and then.

Black is shaking and moaning around White’s cock in his mouth and aching through his whole broken body. Rubbing himself off with his ruined hands, Black comes. He feels suddenly faint, the world swims before his eyes and White’s expression fills his vision. His nose is released and he breathes deep, splutters.

In a rare gesture of mercy, White pulls his cock partially out of Black’s throat and lets his rival take a breath before slipping it back inside again. “Nng, fuck. . . Take it.” He rocks quickly in and out of Black’s throat, small shallow thrusts before pulling almost all the way out and coming on Black’s tongue.

He removes himself from the gasping mouth and wipes his spent cock off on Black’s cheek. White pushes two fingers inside Black’s lips and just rubs them against his tongue, feeling his come in that wet mouth. He hums in contentment, “I want you to swallow it,” He rubs his other hand against the front of Black’s long neck. “Come on.”

An exhausted and raw Black complies, a bit of come escaping and sliding down his chin from the corner of his mouth. White stays where he is for a moment, kneeling over his enemy and quietly appreciating his flushed face and slack lips. He considers kissing him, but then Black is on the move and the moment is lost.

Black shifts and moans as the sensation of agony rolls through his body. His right leg spasms inside it’s cast and he wishes that was the least of his worries. “You crazy mother fucking asshole.” White laughs and tucks himself back into his pants before shifting of the bed. He zips up his duffle bag and takes his hat from the side table.

“I think the words you’re searching for are, ‘thanks so much for not using the manual bone saw.’”

Black snorts.

“By the way. You look like shit. May want to clean yourself up before the nurse gets back.” Yeah. Black was perfectly aware that his limp dick was hanging out of his boxers and there was come on his face, hands and belly. Not to mention his newly acquired collection of bruises, breaks and the smattering of blood from his reopened abrasions. The fact that his bandages and his sling have been undone and . . . Shit. He really couldn’t make this look more suspicious if he tried.

And he certainly won’t be able to make it look _less_ suspicious in his current state. He wails and repeats with more zeal this time, “You crazy mother fucking _asshole._ ”

“Not now. I’ll fuck you next time, Black.”

“Next time . . . No, next time I’m going to _fucking kill you._ ” there’s honest venom in his words. He’s seething. “I promise.”

White smirks. “Best of luck with that.”

And he’s gone.  



End file.
